


Survival 101

by KariAnn1222



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KariAnn1222/pseuds/KariAnn1222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>COMPLETE! Cold, lost, and wandless following a mishap that leaves them stranded, Ron & Hermione resort to desperate measures to survive. A light, somewhat fluffy what-if scenario with minimal angst. Deathly Hallows timeframe. Originally written for & posted at Romione Smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise and am making no money from writing this. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Warnings: This story contains adult content & is not intended for the kiddies. Read at your own risk.
> 
> Story notes: This story was originally written for and posted at Romione Smut (romionesmut . tumblr . com) in response to the prompt, "cold," and will be posted at this site in two parts. Enjoy! ;)

She was so livid that she wanted to murder him—and she might have done, too, if only the big, idiotic git hadn't caused her to lose her wand.

Truly, it was entirely his fault:

The entire incident had started earlier that evening, following a very meager dinner of edible fungi, in which, like usual, she'd been forced to listen to Ron moan and complain. As if it was  _her_  fault they were severely lacking in sufficient food supplies. (Secretly, Hermione did, in fact, blame herself, as she'd prepared for this endless, rambling journey by packing half the Hogwarts library, yet she foolishly hadn't thought to pack a single bloody canned good. She would never, however, admit that particularly daft blunder on her part to Ron.)

Since Harry would be taking the late watch, he'd announced his intentions to go to bed early, but Hermione suspected that he hadn't wanted to put up with Ron's irrational disposition any more than she had.

The only problem was that she was left alone with a very temperamental, Horcrux-wearing Ron Weasley—and that was a bomb just waiting to go off: It was clear that he'd been itching for a row for days, and Hermione had been steadfastly resisting it, as she hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction.

Yet she'd found herself that evening exactly one grumble away from tearing his infuriating ginger head right off his neck.

Therefore, she'd wasted no time in pulling on an extra jumper and snatching up the nearest basket before announcing her intentions to gather edible plants, never mind the fact that it was already dark out and the temperature was rapidly dropping. Ron stated as much and had proceeded to follow her, urging her—in quite a rude manner, if truth be told—to come back inside.

To make a long story short, she'd refused and had instead continued to march aimlessly off at a brisk pace, lit wand in hand. Inevitably, an argument broke out, as she accused him of being an overbearing, ill-tempered oaf, and he'd retorted by calling her barmy and mental and all the tired, over-used names he reserved for her when his pea-sized brain couldn't come up with anything cleverer.

At some point they'd unknowingly crossed the boundaries of the protective enchantments, and, shortly thereafter, Hermione had skidded down a steep, rocky embankment, landing in a painful heap in a thorn bush.

And of course he'd thrown himself down after her, the daft lug, apparently having forgotten that he's a wizard.

So that's how it came to be that they were effectively lost, bruised, cold, and—to make matters impossibly direr—wandless, as she'd lost hers during the fall, and Ron, unsurprisingly, hadn't thought to bring his along.

Of course they'd attempted to climb back up the cliff face, but it proved much too steep, especially beneath their cold-numbed limbs. And they'd tried going  _around_ it, but that had proven useless as well, especially since it was almost pitch black out due to the thick overhead canopy, and although her eyes had adjusted to the dark quite a while ago, it was still impossible to discern more than vague shapes.

Therefore, they were stuck exactly where they were until either daybreak or Harry happened to find them.

To avoid having to blame herself for yet another blunder, Hermione easily deflected the culpability to Ron. After all, if  _he_  hadn't followed her and started that row, she wouldn't have been distracted and would have seen the drop-off in ample time to avoid it.

She currently sat planted on a rock, one arm wrapped tightly around her middle while she plucked out yet another painful thorn from her upper thigh. She was shivering violently but trying not to make it apparent to Ron. There was frost on the ground, but at least it wasn't snowing, she supposed. At least she hadn't been seriously injured in that fall.

After all, she could easily have broken a leg, a wrist, her  _neck_ , for crying out loud. She supposed that she should be feeling grateful, but all she could seem to manage was white rage.

"I reckon we should probably try starting a fire or something," Ron's voice rang out suddenly from the tall, dark mass leaning against the rock wall to her left that she knew to be him.

"Good luck with that," she muttered irritably, retrieving from her satchel the thin blanket that she'd packed earlier that day with the intention of sitting by a small stream near their campsite. She then wrapped it about her shoulders, but it hardly did a thing to protect her from the bitter chill.

"Y'know, you could try being a bit more helpful," he bit out.

"You mean as helpful as you are? The way you refuse to help prepare meals and then proceed to pull faces and moan? There. Now you know how it feels."

"Oh, yeah, real mature, Hermione. We could bloody freeze to death out here and—"

"What do you propose that we do, Ron?" she shot back, incensed anew at being called immature by  _Ron_ , of all people, as she bounded to her feet. "Do you know how to start a fire without a wand? Even if you  _do_ , everything around us is covered with frost, in case you haven't noticed, so how do you expect to be able to create a spark?"

"Er…yeah…good point…" She could make out his arm as it came up to rub the back of his neck.

"I don't suppose you have your Deluminator on you?"

"Left it in the tent," he admitted with a groan of aggravation.

"Right. Along with your wand."

"Sod the snippy little attitude, woncha? This isn't my bloody fault—"

"Oh, it's not, is it? Who was it that followed me, distracting me in the process, all because he was itching for a row?"

"Itching for a—? Hermione, you were marching off alone, into the dark—"

"I can take care of myself, Ron! I would've been fine if it wasn't for you!"

"Or," he countered, his voice rising in frustrated anger, "you could've walked off that sodding cliff by yourself, and me and Harry wouldn't've known—!"

"Argh! Fine! Can we just…not argue? It's not helping matters." As the angry adrenaline ebbed somewhat, she became aware that she was losing feeling in her toes. "We just—we need to think up a way to stay warm until morning."

"Okay," he conceded, taking a calming breath, clearly too exhausted—or else too cold—to continue fighting with her. "There is…there's something that Charlie told me about once, about survival situations…"

"Which is?" she prompted when he hesitated.

"Well…it's got to do with making body heat last or something like that…"

She could practically  _hear_  his face going as red as his hair.

"Ron, would you get to the point?"

"We'd have to, er, take off all our clothes and—and, uh, press our bodies together while wrapped in a—a blanket," he stammered in a rush, plainly mortified.

Hermione forgot to breathe as she took in his words.

There was a prolonged silence, punctuated by the chattering of teeth and short puffs of breath, as they stared at each other. Well, stared in the _direction_  of each other, as it was difficult to distinguish individual facial features in the pervading darkness.

She was frozen as she deliberated, weighing their options, which were practically nonexistent: It was freezing, after all, and they wouldn't survive in the elements without taking some sort of action—and soon, at that. Of course, there was always the possibility that Harry might stumble upon them before the situation became that desperate, but it was hardly a prospect that she was willing to gamble their lives on.

Nonetheless, the idea of wrapping up in a blanket, naked, with Ron, while something she'd fantasized about more than once over the years—under less extreme circumstances, at any rate—was absolutely out of the question. Especially given the mortification in his voice when he'd made the suggestion; obviously, he found the idea of being pressed against her naked skin unappealing, and she certainly didn't wish to subject him to that. Not unless they had no other choice.

"L-let's try wrapping up together with our clothes  _on_ ," she suggested after a moment, attempting unsuccessfully to prevent her teeth from chattering as she hugged herself. "P-perhaps that—that'll be enough."

"Y-yeah—yeah, all right—good," he said, his voice more high-pitched than usual, and the relief there was evident. "Don't—don't know why I didn't think o'that." He was plainly embarrassed.

Hermione couldn't help but smile in the darkness, her irritation with him melting away with his awkwardness. "Come here, then," she instructed, sighing lightly as she unwrapped the blanket from around her shoulders and reached out for his arm. Steering him toward the ground, they sat together with their backs against the rock wall while she wrapped the blanket tightly around both their shoulders with trembling hands and instinctively leaned into his warmth.

It helped quite a bit, especially when Ron's arm slipped hesitantly around her waist, pulling her more snugly into his side. As she absorbed his warmth, her teeth eventually stopped chattering so violently, but her pulse had sped up as it always did in response to his nearness—and this was as close as they'd ever been, physically.

She tried to control her shallow breathing, which came in short bursts—and it only had partly to do with the cold: He smelled good, like his shampoo and sweat, the familiar scents that she associated with summers at the Burrow spent idly reading books, cross-legged on his bed, and swims in the pond, with him attempting to drag her beneath the water by her ankle and her pretending to be miffed by his antics.

What she wouldn't give to go back there now, to a simpler, happier time, when Voldemort had seemed nothing more than a distant threat, a bad dream, and her rows with Ron had grown fewer and further between. That summer between fifth and sixth year, Hermione had felt almost positive that they'd been on the cusp of something…

Then, of course, Lavender had happened, but that wasn't something that Hermione cared to linger over. In any case, it was over and done.

Eventually, her rambling thoughts drifted to Mum and Dad. She wondered what they were doing right then. Whatever it was, she hoped that they were happy; she hoped that they were safe, that the precautions that she'd taken to save their lives had been enough.

"Better?" Ron asked, his husky voice breaking into her thoughts.

"Much. Thank you."

"What were you thinking about just now?"

She peered up at him, faintly surprised. It had been quite a while since he'd asked her anything personal. For that matter, it had been quite a while since they'd had a civil conversation. The last time that they'd been truly pleasant toward one another had been…well, Grimmauld Place, she supposed, when they'd gone to sleep every night in the drawing room side-by-side, their fingers intertwined between them.

More than once, she'd thought that he might kiss her. Had she somehow misinterpreted the signs?  _Who knows?_ she thought ironically.  _Maybe he's accustomed to holding_ Harry's _hand at night. Maybe that's what best mates are supposed to do._ But what about his behavior over the summer? Had she imagined that he'd been more…sensitive? Complimentary? Had she fabricated that his hands had drifted just a bit too low and he'd held her a bit too tightly when they'd danced at Bill and Fleur's wedding? Had it all merely been wishful thinking on her part?

Of course, the fact that they were now half-starving, freezing, and having to cart around that Horcrux, to boot, didn't exactly help boost morale or improve moods in general…

"My parents," she finally answered his question, thinking it safer territory than the utterly complicated, confusing nature of their relationship.

"They'll be fine," Ron assured her, and Hermione knew that he was thinking of his own family. "You made sure of it. 'Sides, it's us we gotta worry about, innit?" he added, clearly in an attempt to interject humor into their situation. "There could be…spiders and other mental stuff crawling around us right now, and we wouldn't even know it." He shuddered against her.

"Ron, considering that we could realistically freeze to death, I think spiders are the very least of our concerns." She only wished that she was joking, she truly did.

"Hey, now, spiders are  _always_ my biggest concern."

A comfortable silence settled between them, and they sat quietly together for rather a while, both lost in their own thoughts. Hermione was unsure of how much time had passed when she realized that her teeth had started chattering again, infinitely more violently than before, and the chill seemed to be creeping into her very bones. The temperature was still dropping, she realized, and if she wasn't mistaken…was that snow landing on her exposed skin?

"Hey, are you all r-right?" he asked in apparent response to her fierce shivering, his arms tightening around her, and the fact that his own teeth were loudly chattering didn't escape her.

"R-Ron, I—I think we should p-probably proceed with P-Plan B now," she said after several hesitant moments, all former reservations she'd had now replaced by urgency: It was no longer a matter of  _possibly_ freezing to death, but an inevitability if they didn't act. As it was, she'd lost feeling in her toes and was worried about the possibility of frostbite.

"Plan B?" The confusion in his voice was apparent.

"Y-yes," she said, sitting up straighter next to him, any embarrassment she might have felt overridden by her need to be warm again. "You know… _Plan B_?"

"Huh?" There was a dramatic pause as what she was saying sank in. " _Oh_. Er…y-yeah. Okay. How 'bout…w-well, my j-jumper's prob'ly big enough for the t-two of us, so I reckon y-you could j-just…take off your shirt and—and get under my jumper, and w-we'll wrap the blanket around us…"

At that point, she was so cold that further urging wasn't necessary.


	2. Part 2

Hermione was grateful for the darkness as she hastily pulled off her two jumpers and long-sleeved shirt, gasping and shivering more violently than ever at the shock of cold that hit her like several thousand pinpricks all over her upper body. The frozen wetness landing on her naked flesh was a telltale indicator that it was definitely snowing now; in fact, she could just make out the swirling flakes in front of her vision.

Drawn by the promise of warmth, she swiftly stepped up to the tall, dark figure that was Ron and heard the distinct ripping sound of fabric: He'd torn the neck of his jumper to make room for her.

Unexpectedly, his elbow collided painfully with her right bra-clad breast—"Shit—Sorry!"—as he lifted his arms, apparently removing something from around his neck, and Hermione realized that it was the locket. "Sod it," he said as he tossed it aside. "I'll get the bleedin' thing in morning. Here—"

When she realized that he was holding up the end of his jumper in clear invitation, she didn't hesitate to duck her head under the hem, experiencing immediate relief when she made contact with his skin, which felt like fire against her own chilled flesh. As first her cheek and then bra-covered breasts and stomach slid up the length of his torso, her head popping out of the torn neck hole, she couldn't help but feel simultaneously nervous and a bit mortified at being pressed up against him so intimately, despite the necessity of the act.

They stood rooted to the spot, frozen, her face pressed into the hollow of his scratchy throat. His scent was everywhere: surrounding her, overwhelming her, causing her pulse to race as she absorbed his warmth into herself. After several hesitant moments, she slid her arms around his slender waist beneath his jumper, and she didn't miss his sharp gasp as his whole body shuddered.

"Sorry," she apologized, thinking that it was her cold flesh that had caused him to shiver.

"'S'okay," he murmured, his voice rumbling through her body as she felt his arms wrap hesitantly around her shoulders, pulling her more snugly into his lanky frame in an obvious attempt to protect her from the cold.

Hermione was very aware of his hammering heart just below her ear where her head rested upon his chest. She could feel against her own naked skin every scattered hair on his chest and the trail of hairs that began just below his navel, disappearing in a line beneath the waistband of his jeans. How many times had she followed that trail of course ginger hairs with her eyes, wondering what he looked like…further south?

Her face, not to mention the area between her legs, warmed at that thought.

"Hey, Hermione?" Ron whispered after several charged—at least, on her end—moments had passed. "We should prob'ly, y'know, find somewhere a bit more sheltered…on the ground somewhere."

His words seemed to jolt her from a daze, and only in that instant did she realize that they were still just standing there in the open, the snow falling on them and clinging to their hair. "Oh, y-yes, well, that would be a logical next course of action, wouldn't it?" She paused, thinking, before the answer came to her: "There's a-a large crevice at the base of the rock over there, to our left, wide enough for both of us to crawl into, I should think. I noticed it when we were looking for my wand."

Ron again grumbled something about the possibility of spiders and other "mental stuff," yet he didn't protest as they awkwardly shuffled in the direction that she'd indicated, her arms tightening around his waist in an effort not to stumble as he leaned to the side, clearly feeling for the crevice in the rock.

"Right," he said after a moment. "Yeah, I think we can just… I-I'll just lie on my back, and we can sorta just…scoot as far back as we can, yeah?"

Hermione murmured her agreement and went with him awkwardly as he crouched and repositioned himself on his back, which, of course, meant that she was pulled down directly on top of him as they scurried into the pitch-black, cave-like crevice: She hadn't been certain how deep the crack went, but when they hit the back wall they discovered that they were completely protected from the elements. It was still freezing, of course, but with their combined body heat their conditions were bearable, at the very least.

She hoped it would be enough to make it 'til morning. She wondered if Harry had discovered their absence yet and whether he was looking for them at that very moment. Yet seeing as he'd already gone to bed before she and Ron had foolishly left the safety and warmth of the tent, he most likely wouldn't notice that they were missing until he awoke to take his watch.

Ron and Hermione attempted to arrange themselves in a moderately comfortable position in the cramped space, a task made tricky due to the fact that they were pressed so closely together and it was absolutely dark: She couldn't so much as make out the shape of Ron's face, though it was mere centimeters in front of her own.

"Here, I've got the blanket…," she said, biting her lip as she attempted to feed out to him the balled-up blanket, which she'd had clutched under her right arm beneath his jumper.

The process proved quite difficult since they couldn't see a thing, but, miraculously—and after she'd managed to head-butt Ron in the nose, to which she'd apologized profusely—they'd managed to tuck the blanket around both their bodies, and they were fairly comfortable, given the circumstances: Hermione was halfway on top of him, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder while his arms were wrapped around her inside the jumper, flesh pressed against flesh, hearts beating in synchronization.

Her body temperature was rapidly returning to normal now that they weren't as exposed, and she was pressed up rather intimately against the furnace that was Ron Weasley, pondering how unimaginably soft his skin was. She'd managed to kick off her boots and tuck her feet beneath his legs, and she could feel her toes tingling as feeling slowly returned to them.

"Is—is this okay?" Ron finally breathed when they were settled, his voice unusually loud in the cramped space.

"More than okay," she whispered. "Much better, thank you, Ron."

She felt his fingers twitch where his large hands rested on her bare back beneath the jumper, just below her bra strap. When she inhaled deeply, she was very aware of how her breasts crushed themselves to his chest, separated by nothing but very thin cotton.

"No problem," he returned, his voice vibrating through her body. "Feel free to wrap up half-naked in a blanket with me any time you want, Hermione."

Her face warmed at the suggestive comment, and she couldn't help but feel absurdly pleased.

 _Oh, honestly_ , she chided herself for her own ridiculousness.  _He's a teenage boy, and you're a girl whose breasts are currently pressed against him in the dark. You could be Millicent Bulstrode and his hormones wouldn't know the difference!_

"Lovely," she said in a mock-scolding tone. "Is that the brand of charm you used to entice Lavender into going out with you?"

She sucked in a breath of frosty air as the impulsive words left her lips; it was the first time that either of them had mentioned that name since the "Lavender Incident" in question last year, and she felt his body stiffen beneath her.

"Hermione," he finally said, "that was—I mean, she was—"

"I know what she was, Ron," Hermione interrupted with a quiet sigh. "She was a pretty girl who was nice and complimentary. You don't have to explain yourself. Anyway, you're free to snog whoever you'd like without my consent." She actually managed to get those words out without a hint of bitterness. "By the way, thank you."

There was a brief pause before he breathed, "For what?," and Hermione knew that he was a bit disconcerted by the abrupt change of subject, but the truth was that she had no desire to discuss Lavender any further. After all, they'd already wordlessly agreed over the summer to forgive each other for any past blunders and misunderstandings.

"For following me. You're probably right; if you hadn't, I might've walked off that cliff by myself. It was silly of me, really, to try to go wandering off alone in the dark. I wasn't thinking…rationally."

There was an even more pronounced pause this time before he cleared his throat and replied: "Yeah, any time. I mean, I care about you, Hermione. If anything'd happened to you, and I didn't…and I couldn't…"

His voice trailed off feebly as she absorbed his words, waiting with bated breath to discover what he'd say next.

"Anyway," he continued after a moment, "sorry for being such an intolerable dick lately. It's partly that bleeding Horcrux—it plays tricks on my mind, makes me think mental things…"

"I know," she whispered. "It does the same to me. I suppose we just handle it differently."

"Yeah, I reckon," he breathed, his voice taking on a thoughtful edge. "Hey, you wanna play a game? Y'know, to pass the time and maybe distract us from the cold?"

She let out a snort of laughter as she adjusted herself in his arms, attempting to turn around in the strict confines of his jumper, as their faces were entirely too close and she was quickly losing the battle with herself not to kiss him. "What sort of game?"

"Well, it's sorta like a drinking game," he replied as he shifted onto his side: They were now effectively spooning in the dark, and Hermione didn't think that this position helped to control her raging hormones any more than the previous had. "Only without the drinking part, obviously," he added, his arm slipping around her waist, and she stifled a gasp as a shot of red-hot desire hit her right between her legs at the feeling of his large hand resting on the flesh of her lower belly, so close to that most intimate portion of her anatomy.

Her  _entire body_ was aware of his closeness.

"How do you play it?" she inquired, actually managing to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Simple. We take turns asking each other questions, and the other answers honestly with a 'yes' or 'no.' How 'bout it?"

She found herself nodding, but when she remembered that he couldn't see her, she breathed, "Yes."

"Wicked. Okay. I'll go first: Did you snog Krum?"

She stifled a groan, feeling annoyed with Ron that he would bring Viktor up, yet she'd brought up Lavender, hadn't she? "Yes," she answered into the dark with a reluctant sigh.

"Did—did he make the first move?" Ron finally replied after several seconds had ticked by.

"He did, but it's my turn, remember?"

"Oh. Right."

She couldn't help but smile at the relief in his voice. "Do you ever think about the future?" she asked. "Beyond Voldemort, I mean? About…what you want to do, assuming we survive the war?"

"Yeah, I reckon. I've thought about it a bit." He cleared his throat. "Do you?"

"Yes." She hesitated before voicing her next question, fearing what he would say, that he would confirm the dark thoughts that were always in the back of her mind but became enhanced whenever she wore the Horcrux: "Do you…is there someone…that you picture yourself…with?" She held her breath, hoping beyond hope that she hadn't been too transparent, but she didn't miss the way his body stiffened behind her.

"Yeah," Ron finally breathed in a whisper.

Her breath left in a rush of air.

"Do you—is there someone—?" He seemed just as reluctant as she'd been with her own question. "I mean, that you…?"

"Yes."

Ron was quiet as he took in her response, but his breathing had labored and his heartbeat had sped up where his chest pressed against her back; she couldn't stifle her gasp as his fingers began to move on her belly, and she realized that he was tracing her navel.

"Is—Is she someone that I know?" Hermione breathed shakily, aware that it was a stupid question since they knew the same people, but all she could focus on was the deliberate way that his calloused fingertips moved on her flesh in circles, brushing just beneath the waistband of her jeans.

"Yeah, definitely," Ron murmured, and she thought she heard him lick his lips. "What about the guy you wanna be with? It  _is_  a guy, right?"

"What do you think, Ron? Have I ever given you any indication that I'm attracted to the same sex?"

"Sorry, stupid question," he responded with a throaty chuckle, but then his laughter died abruptly in his throat, his hand stilling its movements on her belly. "Wait, he doesn't have green eyes, black hair, glasses, and a distinctive lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, does he?"

Despite his joking tone, the vulnerability in his voice was blatant.

"No, definitely not," she said quickly, and she didn't miss his clear sigh of relief. "And…and this girl that you fancy, do I know her well?"

"Oh, yeah. Really well." His voice was low and throaty as he replied, his hand suddenly splaying widely across her belly; her own breathing labored when his thumb just grazed the underside of her right breast through her bra. "And this bloke," he continued in a rumble in her ear, "does he have…ginger hair and freckles?" Once more, the vulnerability in his voice was quite apparent, and she knew that it had taken him quite a lot of courage to say those words.

"Yes…," she admitted with a gulp, still a bit dazed that this whole scenario was even happening. "But please don't tell George. It was supposed to be a secret." When his hand froze against her and she heard him inhale sharply, Hermione hastily added, "I'm only kidding, Ron."

"About the ginger hair and freckles part or the George part?"

"The George part. Obviously."

He breathed what could only be another sigh of relief, and Hermione could hardly believe the implications of what that meant. Well, she supposed she'd known on a certain level all along, but she'd been too afraid of getting her heart crushed to hope.

"Hermione?" he breathed nervously, even as his hand drifted up to brazenly cup her breast, his palm just grazing her puckered nipple through her bra. "Does this—does this feel good? What I'm doing?"

"Yesss," she hissed as she arched into his touch, forgetting to breathe and not even caring that he'd skipped her turn as her entire body ached for him.

He groaned in response, squeezing her breast experimentally as he suddenly pushed his hips up against her bum: There was no mistaking the bulge in his trousers. "Do—d'you want me to stop?"

"No. Please don't stop, Ron."

Hermione turned her head in his direction as she said the words and was taken aback to find Ron's lips  _right there_ , seeking hers over her shoulder. As his thumb dragged languid circles around her sensitive peek before pinching lightly and repeating the action on her other breast, their mouths fused together in a culmination of years'-worth of pent-up sexual energy and unfulfilled longing. Once un-caged, it was an immovable force:

She was moaning against his lips, her body quaking with fervent desire as she pondered in a removed sort of way how very silky-soft his lips were, how amazing his large hand felt on her body; then his tongue was demanding entry into her mouth, and she submitted, allowing him to penetrate her, the action mimicking another very natural, ages-old act.

Experienced in this department as Ron she may not be, but she prided herself on her ability to fluent herself in any new subject, and she therefore reciprocated experimentally yet aggressively, licking his teeth, sucking his tongue, and nipping his lip with an avid, hungry passion—and she was  _so very hungry for him_ , and, judging by the raw, zealous enthusiasm that he was displaying and which was making her head spin, he was, amazingly, just as starved for her. She almost couldn't believe that this was actually happening, after all these years of games and denial and beating around the bush, neither ever truly certain of the other's feelings…

More than feeling good on a mere physical plane, kissing Ron felt right and true and good to her very soul, and she knew that she wanted so much more with him, that she was willing to give and take if only  _he_ was. And judging by the unabashed manner in which he was currently grinding himself against her arse, there was no doubt in her mind that he, like her, desired nothing less than completion.

"Ron," she whispered in a breathy sigh as their lips at long last parted. When he used his cheek to move aside her hair before trailing rough nips along the tender flesh behind her ear and down the side of her throat, Hermione longed to reach back and run a hand through his shaggy hair, to pull him more fully to her in encouragement. Unfortunately, however, her arms were frustratingly trapped within the confines of his jumper, and she was too distracted to put in the effort to free them as he shoved her bra up over her mounds in the next moments, clumsily kneading and tweaking her bare flesh: She gasped, her thighs clamping together, desperate for friction…

"Fucking love your tits, Hermione," his awe-filled, lust-spiked voice rumbled into her ear as his hand alternated between her breasts, plucking haphazardly and causing her to cry out in lusty little pants. "Wish I could see 'em. You like that? Fuck, I bet you're wet, huh?"

His crass words only fueled her lust, and she groaned raggedly in response, begging him in not so many words to touch her elsewhere.

"Want me to touch you…lower?" he breathed, seeming to sense what she needed, his own voice ragged with desire.

"Y-Yes," she whispered around another gulp. "Please…"

Ron groaned and squeezed her breasts one final time before sliding his hand back down her ribcage and stomach. His fingers lingered on the button of her jeans, giving her ample opportunity to change her mind. No resistance came; instead, she parted her thighs, which was all the encouragement he needed to unsnap her jeans and lower her zipper.

The silence was absurdly thick in the confines of their cramped little cave, their pants and moans therefore enhanced to the extreme as his fingers slipped inside her knickers and wasted no time in delving into her slick folds. "Fucking hell," Ron moaned as she bucked into his touch. "So hot, sweetheart," he murmured, his first two fingers quickly finding her little bundle of nerves and rubbing in an experienced manner that left little doubt as to whether he'd done this before, but it was no matter. What he had or hadn't done had no bearing on the present, on this moment…

"Oh my God!" she gasped when he began rubbing her clitoris furiously, his other hand, which had been hitherto trapped between their bodies, snaked around her ribcage and squeezed her breasts, while he uttered words of encouragement into her ear: "That's right, 'Ermione—that's so fucking hot—cum for me good, fuck yeah…"

When he simultaneously bit down on her earlobe, pinched her nipple, and plunged a single finger into her core, Hermione came undone, her orgasm enveloping her body from the inside out as a small scream erupted from her lips, which she attempted to stifle by biting down hard on her upper lip…

Ron rode out her shockwaves with her, only stilling his movements and pulling his hand from her knickers when her shuddering and moaning had finally ceased. He was planting kisses along the shell of her ear when she at long last came down from her endorphin-induced high. "Fuck, I love you," he murmured against her ear and then abruptly stiffened, as if realizing what he'd said. "Well, I mean, if—y'know—if you…I mean, if you feel the same," he added in a rush, "but if not then I reckon that's okay, I—I understand, we can still be friends and all—"

"Ron," she said over her shoulder, cutting him off, positively reeling with the force of the varying emotions that she was experiencing at that moment. "I feel the same. What I mean to say…is that I love you as well." She felt her face flush as she finally said the words to him. "For so long… You have no idea."

She had no clue how or when it had happened, but the next thing she was cognizant of, she found herself covered by the glorious weight of his body, pressed into the cold stone floor, but she hardly felt it as he kissed her impossibly more heatedly than before. Her head was spinning dizzyingly; she was quite literally intoxicated by him as he cupped her face with both his hands and nipped her lower lip. She realized in a removed sort of way that her jeans had been shoved down her hips, freeing one of her legs, and the jumper was inexplicably gone—but it was no matter, as their closeness and activities were providing sufficient warmth—giving her free reign to undo his trousers and push them over his straining erection with trembling, unpracticed hands.

Hermione harbored no qualms about letting Ron take her—she wanted it, and she'd always felt that maintaining one's virginity purely for the sake of remaining a virgin was overrated, especially given that they realistically might not live much longer, and he was the one she'd wanted for almost as long as she'd known him—but her sluggish, lust-hazed mind was having difficulty determining where she was in her monthly cycle.

As she scraped her fingernails down his small nipples and tight stomach muscles, wishing that she could see him, and delved her hands inside his pants—she took delight in his small gasps of pleasure when she experimentally pumped his surprisingly silky shaft—she came to the conclusion that she shouldn't be ovulating for another week.

When Ron's mouth trailed a fiery line down her throat, over her chest, and sucked one puckered nipple between his full lips, the action served to effectively drive all rationality from the equation altogether.

She cried out, her legs wrapping around his waist: "Now," she demanded in a shaky whisper, her hands lacing behind his neck, and he didn't stop to ask her if she was sure. (Bless his less-than-gentlemanly ways.) Instead, there was a shuffle as he undoubtedly pushed his pants over his hips, and then she felt his fingers at her core once more, pushing her knickers aside by the strip of cotton between her legs…

As he hesitated for a single instant, their breathing erratic and absurdly loud in their little cave, her nerves felt frayed from combined anticipation and apprehension.

She'd never done this, and he'd felt quite…well, large when she'd touched him, if truth be told…

"I've wanted you since I was about fourteen," he confessed into the dark, his voice shaky, "maybe longer…"

She swallowed hard, biting her lip. "Then take me now. What are you waiting for?"

He grunted an incomprehensible reply, and then she felt his spongy tip there, pushing into her slowly but steadily as she tried not to tense up at the unfamiliar intrusion.

"Ungh…funkingshit," Ron grunted when he was finally fully sheathed in her body, his arms trembling where they braced against the rock by her head, but Hermione couldn't manage more than a whimper.

It hurt. A lot.

"Move," she whispered in as steady a voice as she could muster, not wanting to betray to him that she was in pain, as she didn't wish him to feel any amount of guilt for this.

He didn't have to be told twice: His hips reared back before he plunged back into her once more, gasping and grunting his pleasure, and it became obvious to her, judging by his erratic, unsure thrusts that he hadn't, in fact, engaged in actual intercourse before—and that thought pleased her immensely.

As his movements became more confident, Hermione found the pain letting up, replaced by a mounting pleasure between her legs, and it didn't matter to her that the lovemaking was sloppy and sticky and unpracticed and desperate—or that it was over far sooner than his male pride would have preferred.

It was also passionate and pure and beautiful and loving, and when he finally spilled himself inside her, his sweat-dampened head coming to rest on her breasts, it was absolute perfection, in her eyes: They were in a cave, cold and alone, away from any family or friends, and outlaws on the run, but at that moment in time, she wouldn't have it any other way.

After several moments of catching his breath, Ron leaned up and kissed her lips, his body still connected intimately with hers. "Did that really just happen, or was it just one of my more vivid wet dreams?" he asked when their lips had separated, and she rolled her eyes in response, swatting his shoulder, to which he let out a low, content-sounding chuckle. "Guess that answers that," he murmured lazily.

Before she could retort, she became abruptly aware of the hard, icy surface upon which she lay, and her teeth began chattering almost as soon as that awareness came to her.

"Right, then, the jumper…," Ron said, reality dawning on him as well, as he gently pulled out of her.

As she repositioned her clothing and attempted to clean up the uncomfortable stickiness between her legs as best as she could, Ron groped around in the dark for the discarded jumper. Soon, they were bundled up together once more, her head resting on his chest as she listened to the steady thumping of his heart. His right hand was entangled in her hair, his left rubbing gentle circles on her back.

"I meant it, y'know," he said into the dark after several minutes. "About what I said about loving you."

"I know." It amazed her how easily she accepted it, as if she'd known it all along—and she supposed she had on a certain level. "I meant it as well."

She could practically sense the goofy grin that was surely lighting up his face. "So…does this mean we're together now?"

"That certainly seems to be the case," she said, and then added in a joking manner, "unless, of course, you were just using me for sex."

"Yeah, I'm not that mental. You'd hex my bollocks off, that's for bloody sure."

"Assuming I ever find my wand, you mean."

"Yeah, there is that. Speaking of, ya think Harry's noticed we're gone yet?"

"Hmm. Maybe," she said with a sleepy yawn. "I certainly hope so."

There were several moments of silence before Ron said, hopefully, "So…since you're my girlfriend now, does that mean we can shag any time we want?"

"Oh, honestly," she admonished, rolling her eyes even though she knew he couldn't see her. "I think we have more important things to worry about. Besides, I somehow doubt we'll get many opportunities to be alone in the near future."

"Oh." His disappointment was evident. "Wanna do it again, then? Y'know, generate some more heat?"

Before Hermione could work up a sufficiently biting retort, they heard what was unmistakably Harry calling for them in the distance…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Hope you enjoyed. ;) If you did, I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> I'd like to thank jeswithoneess for allowing me to participate in her new blog, Romione Smut (romionesmut . tumblr . com). It was her prompt that inspired this little piece of smutty ridiculousness, & I had a lot of fun writing it!
> 
> To my readers who wish to show their appreciation for the hard work & effort I've put into my stories, you may do so by voting for me in the Romione Awards (romioneawards . tumblr . com), beginning July 31! To save you from having to scroll through the rather lengthy list posted at the site in search of my nominations, I've been nominated as follows:
> 
> Best AU - The Waiting Place
> 
> Best Ron - The Waiting Place, Hallowed Hearts, Skimming Stones & Skinny-Dipping
> 
> Best Hermione - The Waiting Place, Hallowed Hearts, Skimming Stones & Skinny-Dipping
> 
> Best Romance - Hallowed Hearts, Skimming Stones & Skinny-Dipping
> 
> The Smuttastic Award - Permission Slip
> 
> Thank you to those who thought enough of my fics to take the time to submit them for nomination. I'm truly flattered & a bit awestruck to be on that list with some of those amazing authors & people, as I consider several of them friends & admire their writing a good deal!
> 
> For up-to-date info on all my writings & other randomness, you may follow me on Twitter (Kari_FicFanatic) and/or tumblr (musingsofaficfanatic).
> 
> -Kari


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